


It Can Wait

by wilddragonflying



Series: Post Reichenbach [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Sherlock returns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:31:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock hadn't expected John to keep his number after his "death." When the first text came on the one-year anniversary, Sherlock merely stared hungrily at his phone, at the six words on the screen, fighting the urge to type out a reply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Can Wait

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Coming Home..

Sherlock hadn't expected John to keep his number after his "death." When the first text came on the one-year anniversary, Sherlock merely stared hungrily at his phone, at the six words on the screen, fighting the urge to type out a reply.

Over the next two years, every time Sherlock's phone told him he had another text from John, it was an almost physical pain knowing that he could not ease John's own pain. When John's text demanding to know why Sherlock couldn't produce just one more miracle arrived, Sherlock almost couldn't resist the urge to run back to London, back to John.

The day Sherlock could finally return home - three years to the day after St. Bart's - he received a text from John: _This is the last time I'll stand here. It's been three years, Sherlock. It's been three years, and it still hurts like hell to think of you. So maybe I should just not think of you anymore. -JW_

_Good-bye. -JW_

Sherlock became frantic to get back to John. On the entire trip back to 221B Baker Street, Sherlock fidgeted, feeling as if the cab was driving far too slowly. _Is this what it's like to be in love?_ Sherlock wondered to himself, staring out of the cab window at the passing London streetlights. _To fear the other person wont forgive you, or worse, that they will forget you entirely?_

Finally, the cab stopped, and Sherlock leapt from it, not bothering to pay the cabbie; he knew Mycroft would have already taken care of it. He still had a key to the building, and he used it, not wanted to bother Mrs. Hudson. He didn't want to see anyone but John right now, his whole being practically screaming at the need to reassure himself and John that all was finally fine.

Sherlock took the steps to the flat three at a time, and then he stopped outside of the flat, in front of the door. Eventually, he pulled out his phone and finally, _finally,_ allowed himself to text John.

_Coming home. -SH_

Sherlock waited until he heard John's phone alert ping before he knocked on the door.

When John opened the door, staring at his phone, Sherlock sucked in a breath. John had obviously lost quite a bit of weight, and he had not had a good night's rest in quite some time( _Three years, it looks like,_ a nasty voice in the back of his mind whispered.) and an air of defeat followed the doctor.

Sherlock waited until John had looked up from his phone, his face a mixture of shock and hope tampered by apprehension, before saying quietly, "I'm home, John."

While Sherlock had been expecting the punch, he hadn't expected John to throw himself into Sherlock's arms, clinging to the taller man desperately as his shoulder's shook with silent sobs.

Sherlock froze for a moment, and then scooped John into his arms, carrying John into the flat, kicking the door shut behind them. He walked quickly to the couch, sitting down and cradling John tenderly in his arms, burying his face in John's hair. They stayed like that for several moments, Sherlock just breathing in the scent of John, the scent of _home._

John pulled back after several moments. "You're really here?" he whispered almost fearfully, looking at Sherlock as if he was afraid the detective would disappear if he blinked.

"Yes, John; I'm here," Sherlock replied in a murmur. He brought a hand up to cup John's face, learning the new lines and shadows. Things _he_ had put on John's face.

"Why?" John asked brokenly, and Sherlock knew he wasnt asking why Sherlock had come back. He was asking why Sherlock had stayed away.

"I had to stay away, to keep you safe," Sherlock explained, not taking his eyes off of John. Every text he had received from John may have hurt, but they had provided proof that John had not tried to follow where he thought Sherlock had gone.

John didn't reply, just leaned back in and wrapped his arms around Sherlock. Sherlock returned the embrace, unable to resist dropping a soft kiss to the top of John's head. John pulled back at the gesture, eyes wide, and Sherlock held his breath, waiting to see what John would do.

It was a short wait, and then John was lunging forward, peppering Sherlock's cheeks and brow with kisses intermingled with sobs. Sherlock pressed his own kisses to John's face, finally catching and holding John's head so that he could press a tentative kiss to John's lips. He felt John freeze for a second, and Sherlock pulled back, afraid he'd overstepped. 

"I'm sorry," he murmured apologetically, not looking John in the eye. His hands fell from John's face, and he felt a flush beginning to creep up his neck.

"Don't apologize, damn you," John said fiercely. Sherlock's eyes snapped back to John's, but John leaned forward and kissed him, hard, the kiss filled with every bit of longing and frustration and desperation he had felt in the past three years. Sherlock returned the kiss fervently, his hands coming up to push John's shirt up his sides, Sherlock's long fingers running softly up John's ribs.

Sherlock could feel John shudder, hear him moan with pleasure into the kiss. He pulled back just enough to whisper, "I love you."

"I love you, too, you insufferable git. Now c'mere and maybe I'll think about forgiving you," John answered with a wicked glint in his eyes.

An answering light in his, Sherlock complied. After all, telling everyone else he was miraculously back from the dead could wait until the next day.


End file.
